


To Curse A King

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Blood Magic, Curses, F/M, I didn't even know where this was going when I started it, I just hoped I would find it along the way, Knife Play, Sex Magic, Sort of? - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?, crackship, just lots of magic and blood and sex, spellwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: Set when Sihtric has pretended to betray Uhtred and is in the Danish camp.Skade wants to ensure the Danish victory the only way she knows how, and there's only one man in the Danish camp who claims to know how to throw curses.
Relationships: Sihtric/Skade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	To Curse A King

Skade does not flinch as the knife pierces the skin at the crook of her elbow, and she does not struggle against the firm hand holding her wrist in place. She has cut herself so many times in the working of her magic, it does not even bother her when someone else holds the knife. 

The knife drags from elbow to wrist, the cut long but shallow, blood welling in a slow trickle, and Skade has always thought the brightness of blood is beautiful against her pale skin. A twisted thought, perhaps, but why else would the gods call her to such a life, if not to revel in that which gives her power?

She meets the eyes of her unwilling assistant, the only man among this whole company of useless Danes who claims to have any knowledge of curses. He is probably not the only one, in truth, but the only one who is not afraid to be called unmanly. He has proven herself time and again on the battlefield; any who dare to call him such will meet a swift end within a square of hazel rods. He told her he threw a curse once, met her eyes steady and calm when he said it, not a hint of remorse, and Brida laughed.

Skade believes him. It is her business to know things; and rumors fly around this camp. Hasten knows even more than Skade herself, and he can't keep a secret when he's in his cups. Sihtric may call himself Elflaedsson, and his father may have been killed long before Skade sailed to this doomed island, but she knows who it is that whelped Sihtric on a Saxon slave-girl. 

She is not surprised that Sihtric once threw a curse, and she has a fair guess about his target. He is ideal for this spellwork, anyway. Dane and Saxon in one body, one eye blue and the other brown, the perfect melding of light and dark. 

Sihtric stabs the knife into the cold ground, burying it to the hilt, before he grabs Skade’s bare arm and swipes his pointer finger through the blood. He touches each of her eyelids, his fingertip light as a butterfly, before his hand darts to her lips and paints them, too. 

Skade slides the knife from the sheath at her waist and cuts Sihtric's arm from wrist to elbow in one deliberate stroke, an equal and opposite wound to her own. She stabs it viciously into the ground beside his, drags her finger through his blood, and touches his eyelids and lips. 

Finally she takes their arms and presses the wounds together to mix their blood, the first of their two joinings under tonight's new moon: the time when secrets come to life, when clandestine affairs are revealed, when the darkest impulses of man and nature hold sway. 

A perfect night to curse a king. 

Sihtric shivers when she pulls his shirt over his head, but he’s still as stone when she draws the runes on him: algiz, for protection, right over his heart, because this is a spell that can so easily go awry. Naunuz, for distress, low on his belly. It is no secret that Alfred has troubles there. 

Skade grabs the wooden bowl that waits by the fire, bitter herbs and crushed mushrooms steeping in water boiled before Sihtric cut her arm. It should be at full strength by now. 

Skade gulps half the bitter liquid down. Sihtric takes the bowl from her hands, and his eyes, grim and unreadable, meet hers over the rim as he tips it to drink. His throat bobs in long swallows. He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the taste, and tosses the bowl into the fire. 

The flames jump higher as they lap up the dregs of the potion. Skade should be annoyed that he tossed her best bowl into the fire; instead, she is only transfixed by the dancing of the flames as the magic begins to move in her. She takes off her own dress as Sihtric unties his trousers. The night air is cold and comforting against her flushed skin, raising goosebumps on her arms when a light breeze hits her.

She rubs her hands over her arms and finally looks over at Sihtric, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from her. His clothes are neatly folded by the fire, she notes with faint amusement. This will not be a joining of tenderness, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy it, anyway. Her cool gaze sweeps him over, admiring the planes of his face in the firelight, the play of silver scars over his sword-Dane’s body. He is a man without an inch of softness on him, all hard muscle and sharp angles. He may be the most beautiful man she has ever had.

Skade starts toward him. Her hand lands on his shoulder, and she’s shocked by the warmth of him. The magic always does that, makes her surprised by the smallest physical sensations, brings a more intense awareness to every feeling. She revels in it and fears it: the way it makes her powerful and vulnerable all at once. Every blessing must come with its own curse, she muses. 

For all that Sihtric is a warrior, for all that he will be the vessel for her curse to pass to Alfred--for all that it will hurt for the brief time the curse is within him--she does not think that he will take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. 

He wraps his arms around her waist as he falls to the ground, and Skade is shocked when his lips press gently against hers. “It will hurt,” she reminds him softly, almost feeling guilty, but his momentary suffering will be nothing in the face of Danish victory. The death of Alfred will all but secure it; it is his iron will and cunning mind that have kept them at bay. 

“I do not fear pain,” Sihtric assures her, his breath warm and sweet against her lips. His hands are curious and soft as they wander over her, exploring the heft of her breasts and the curve of her waist before sliding to the junction between her thighs. She knows this is not a joining of affection for him, either, but still she appreciates the consideration he shows to make sure she is prepared. 

He flicks a deft finger over the nub at her apex, and Skade allows herself to tangle her fingers in his soft hair, to trace the tattooed snakes curving over his ears, to enjoy the hitch of his breath as her fingertips skim down his neck. She wraps a hand around his thick shaft. His skin is delicate as petals beneath her palm. She strokes him slowly, her mouth dropping open as she savors the feel of him in her hand. 

His finger moves back to explore her slit. She’s already wet after his expert work on her clit, and he slips a finger into her to judge just how ready she is. He curls it unexpectedly, hitting a spot that makes her gasp against his lips, and she can feel his smile. His hands settle firmly on her hips, guiding her. Skade lines her opening up with his head and slides onto him as slowly as she can bear. She dreads the moment when he’ll fill her completely, when the curse will enter into his body. Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is only seconds, she’s taken every bit of him. 

Sihtric gasps and writhes beneath her; a lesser man would scream. Skade can see his pain in the way he tears into his own lips with his teeth, can feel it in the fingers bruising her hips. “Hurry,” he rasps, and Skade is compelled to obey. She rides him hard, her hands pressing his shoulders into the ground as he tries to curl into himself. She hates to deny him that, his body instinctively seeking relief from the agonies of her curse.

She leans down to kiss him, tasting blood on his lips, and he twists his fingers into her long hair and anchors her mouth to his. He kisses her like a man desperate to feel something, and Skade is glad to give him what little distraction she can offer. She guides one of his hands from her hip to her breast, kisses him with as much sweetness as she can muster. It doesn’t feel like enough as he shudders beneath her, each breath a gasping groan. 

Skade redoubles her efforts, feels herself start to clench around him. She’s just on the edge of coming when he suddenly throws her off and lunges to all fours. He wraps one hand around his cock and strokes himself quickly, once, twice, and then spurts his seed onto the ground. He freezes when he’s finished, trembling and panting, and fear cuts through the magic, cuts through her arousal, heavy and sick. 

“Sihtric?” Her voice seems to shock him into awareness, and he raises his gaze to her with a nod. 

“The pain is gone.” He sounds giddy with relief, and he loops an arm around her waist and pulls her close. His skin is clammy despite the night’s chill, and sweat plasters his hair to his cheeks. He presses a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. 

“Good thing you remembered to come onto the ground. For all that he’s a Christian king, he’s still bound to the land. The curse will go to him through the ground,” Skade says. She told him this earlier, but this is the closest she can come to telling him that he’s done well. She does not have that kindness in her. 

“The next time you need help with curses, ask someone else,” Sihtric breathes against her skin. 

“I thought you did not fear pain?” Skade asks, brows rising, gently teasing. She strokes his hair back, allows herself a small moment of tenderness to kiss his temple. 

“I fear curses,” Sihtric corrects. He looks at her with wide eyes luminous in the firelight, and he is utterly tender as he guides her to lay back on the ground. “And the women who throw them.” 

But that fear does not stop him from kissing her slowly, from covering her body with his, from keeping her in dark woods until their fire is little more than embers.


End file.
